


couch surfing

by auberjonois



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, There’s a plot in here somewhere, basically the usual fare...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberjonois/pseuds/auberjonois
Summary: Ousted from the power plant and evicted from his manor Burns winds up on Waylon’s sofa again. Between stealing Waylon’s cigarettes and snooping, it’s not a bad life, but it is a boring one.
Relationships: Charles Montgomery Burns/Waylon Smithers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	couch surfing

**Author's Note:**

> smithers is repressed, burns is a slut. this happens every week.

Burns sighed, breathing out the smoke from yet another pilfered cigarette found in Smithers’ kitchen drawer. He hadn’t smoked so routinely in years, but the boredom was beginning to eat away at his resolve. A week had already gone by, cooped up in this little apartment, it wasn’t his longest stay with Smithers yet and he still held out hope he could formulate a plan to regain his wealth and status before a month had passed. 

Smithers was doing the same while keeping an eye on the plant, currently being run by some NRC drone installed after federal agents had frozen Burns’ assets and removed him as head of the company. Maybe he had been a little too flagrant with his most recent submission to the IRS and a bit skimpy when it came to that congressman’s annual bribe, but it hardly mattered now. 

He took another drag before blotting out the butt into Smithers’ ashtray. Burns had found the box of cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray tucked into the smallest drawer near the fridge as if Smithers was attempting to hide them from himself. Monty knew he’d tried to kick the habit quite a few times over the years, so it was hardly surprising to find the pack stashed so guiltily away. In a way he was helping Waylon, the more Burns smoked, the less Smithers could. 

It was by no means a cure for these doldrums though. Burns had rifled through every drawer and cabinet in the apartment even going so far as to finger through each of Smithers’ VHS tapes looking for anything to occupy his time. Nothing. 

It was safe to say that aside from flipping through channels Smithers himself had little to do in his own apartment. 

Burns smiled to himself, he kept his assistant busy that much was certain. 

Now if only he could find some way to occupy his time while sequestered away from his plant. 

He stared at the clock on the wall, Smithers was due home within the hour, that meant dinner and a bit of TV before Waylon would lay out the blankets and pillow on the sofa for him. They’d turn in for the night and Burns would wake up to the same maddening tedium he was experiencing now.

He looked down at the ashtray, a small ember was still smoldering in it sending a thin strand of smoke drifting upwards. Well, it was worth giving those tapes another go, maybe there was something he’d missed and if not, the news was always an option. He did feel a drink was in order, he’d wait for Smithers to return though, he could benefit from a libation or two. And it would do Waylon good to let loose as well, the man was wound tighter than a spring, it was a wonder he wasn’t out of his mind already what with no outlet. Or at least none that Burns could readily see. 

He muddled his way over to the television set again, and slumped down in front of it, his legs crossed and his back against the coffee table. Burns had toyed with the remote on and off for hours now, unable to find anything to even pique his interest in the slightest. He rarely watched television without Waylon, he liked having someone to chat with over droll comedies and the news. Without Smithers on the sofa with him, it was just lonely. 

The collection of tapes under the TV was small, mostly movies starring Paul Newman, whoever that was, and a few in generic sleeves with the titles of shows and episodes written on them in Smithers’ looping cursive. There were even a few news conferences about the power plant recorded, the date they aired and a brief description marked down on each box. 

Burns sighed as he pulled out another tape, the spine read “Hurricane ‘96” a storm that Burns only recalled vaguely. He slipped the tape out of its sleeve but stopped short when he realized it wasn’t just another blank tape that Smithers had used to record a news story. The tape had a label. 

The Anchor Hotel.

A brief description under the title made it clear what could be found on the tape if the black and white image of a man’s bare chest wasn’t indication enough. 

Burns laughed to himself quietly, so maybe Smithers did have an outlet after all. He slid the tape back into its sleeve and placed it back on the shelf as a plot began to take shape in his mind. If he couldn’t find a distraction here in the apartment, he’d just have to make his own fun.

He stood and strode out of the living room into Smithers’ bedroom where he opened the closet doors. Neat and tidy just as he was at work, Smithers’ shirts were hung up meticulously, but at the far end of the closet, in the corner, Burns found what he was looking for. An older button-down of Waylon’s, maybe a size too small for him now and fallen into disuse, although it still smelled nicely of his aftershave. 

Burns stripped off his own polo shirt and slacks before slipping on the oversized shirt. He stared at himself in the mirror on the closet door for a moment and smiled at the way the shirt hung off his slight frame in an elegant and certainly very revealing way. After a moment he decided that, for the sake of seeing Smithers’ face, he’d raise the stakes. He took off his boxers as well and grinned to himself while buttoning the lower portion of the shirt, leaving the top open, exposing his chest and collarbone. The shirttails barely skimmed his upper thighs, but they covered enough for his purposes. 

Now all he had to do was wait for his quarry to arrive.

Burns made his way back to the kitchen and lit another cigarette, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter nearest the door. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Only halfway through the cigarette, he heard Smithers’ key in the lock. Burns turned his body towards the door, ensuring that Smithers would get a good look as he entered. 

Waylon stepped into the apartment smiling, despite whatever was happening at the plant he always seemed in a good mood to arrive back home even when Monty could tell he was tired.

“Mr. Burns?” Smithers called out looking to the living room at first.

“Good to see you, Smithers,” he replied coolly and watched as Smithers turned to face him.

“Oh! Sir, I didn’t see you there,” Waylon said. 

Burns narrowed his eyes, that wasn’t quite the response he’d expected, Waylon did sound slightly startled, but if he was surprised by Burns’ state of undress it wasn’t immediately apparent yet.

Burns took another drag on his cigarette, maybe he was just in shock.

“You- uh, found my cigarettes,” Smithers continued, he didn’t move from where he was standing stock still beside the door.

“Yes,” Burns replied coyly as he breathed out the smoke, “would you like one?” He took the pack from the counter feeling Waylon’s eyes on his every movement. 

Smithers set down his briefcase and moved closer to Burns, still keeping a respectful distance though, much too respectful for Burns’ liking.

“Sure.” His voice shook just barely, he reached out slowly to take the pack from Burns.

Instead of handing it to Smithers though, Burns tilted the pack as if to tip a cigarette into Smithers’ waiting hand. Then he tilted it further, the cigarettes spilled out onto the floor, hitting the tile with a soft pattering noise. He watched Waylon gaze downwards at the cigarettes as they rolled across the kitchen floor.

“Oops,” Burns snickered and Smithers looked back up at him, eyes wider than before. “Clumsy me, don’t worry yourself, Waylon, I’ll pick them up.”

If Smithers could muster any sort of response he didn’t give one.

Monty bent down, legs straight so that the loose shirt slid down into the curve of his back. He stretched himself out as he delicately plucked a cigarette from where it had rolled into the groove between two tiles, he rose slightly and peered over his shoulder at Waylon, a coquettish smile on his lips.

Smithers wasn’t smiling. There was a flush on his cheeks and his whole body was tense, he looked as though the slightest breeze would topple him. 

“Sir,” he started, he swallowed loudly, “would you- do you need some help?” 

“Nonsense, I’m perfectly capable of picking up a few cigarettes!” He bent forward again, reaching out for another, but the sound of Smithers’ hurried footsteps stopped him. 

He straightened up just in time to see Smithers rushing into the bedroom.

“Smithers! Where are you going?” Burns demanded after his former assistant. 

“Uh, just- need a shower! Give me a minute!” Smithers shouted from the other room.

Burns heard the bathroom door slam. 

He grimaced, leaning down had been quite taxing on his back and without any payoff! He tossed the one rescued cigarette onto the counter and snuffed out his half-finished one in a bout of frustration. He didn’t bother to pick up the rest that were still scattered on the floor, it was a moot point now.

What kind of man would turn down such an explicit invitation? He was certain of the nature of the film in Smithers’ collection, his leanings were obvious. So why did he dash off? 

Burns sighed and pulled listlessly on the hem of the borrowed shirt, maybe the problem didn’t lay with Smithers. It was true that Monty wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. Maybe the Burns charm was beginning to wear thin.

No power or charm, not even a penny to his name unless he applied for social security checks. He shuddered at the thought and shuffled to Smithers’ bedroom, he could hear the water running in the bathroom. Burns took his boxers from where he’d left them in a heap and put them on before heading back to the living room and sitting down heavily on the couch. He flipped on the television set with the remote, the evening news flickered onto the screen. 

Nothing of any real interest but it would keep him occupied until Waylon reappeared.

——

Smithers stared at himself in the mirror not fully believing what had just happened. Burns in his kitchen half-naked and- teasing him? That couldn’t be right, sure Monty had been playful and just a little flirtatious before, but nothing so- blatant.

Smithers turned the faucet on and splashed cool water over his burning cheeks. The blush on his face was the least of his concern though, much more problematic was his obvious erection. There was no way he could face Burns like this, not until he got himself under control. He needed a cold shower. He shut off the faucet and opened the shower door, leaning in to turn on the water. He took off his glasses and set them down on the sink.

As he undressed he carefully considered what had taken place in the kitchen. It had to have been a fluke, Burns had been suffering from a serious case of cabin fever these last few days, Waylon had come home to find him in the middle of reorganizing everything from Waylon’s pantry to his medicine cabinet. He’d even found him staring blankly at the TV screen as an infomercial hawking novel cooking utensils played. 

Smithers stepped into the shower and shivered as the rush of cold water hit his shoulders. For a moment he toyed with the idea of turning on the hot water and allowing himself some release by simply jerking off, especially as the image of Burns’ slender thighs and the curve of his ass was still fresh in his mind’s eye. 

He closed his eyes, god, he could see himself reaching out to take hold of those bony hips and pulling them back so that he could grind Burns’ bare ass against his hard-on.

Damn. 

Smithers took a deep breath to clear his head and turned the faucet so that the water now rushed out ice cold. He banished that thought, and any related to it, from his mind as he washed quickly. The freezing shower worked and, although he was shivering as he shut off the water, he wouldn’t embarrass himself or Burns when he returned to the living room. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist and gathering his clothes from the floor. He put his glasses on again before opening the door to the bedroom and making his way to the bed where he dropped the days’ clothes, he could sort them into the hamper later. 

Right now he just wanted to put on something comfortable and start dinner. From the set of drawers beside the bed he took a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, he threw these on and walked out into the living room, not entirely sure what he might find.

To his relief Burns, now sitting in the middle of the sofa, legs stretched out to the coffee table, was more clothed than when he’d left him. The shirt remained partially open, but it was no longer hanging off his shoulders and he had on a pair of boxers.

Burns looked up from the TV and eyed Waylon in the doorway warily, his arms crossed over his chest. 

The same part of Waylon that still held out hope that Burns would one day return his affections cried out in disappointment that whatever had overtaken Burns seemed to have been dampened and that side of Monty was once again closed off from him. 

“I’m going to start dinner,” Smithers said, his voice level, “do you need anything, sir?”

Burns was quiet for a moment, a thin serious frown on his lips, Smithers could see him turning something over in his mind. 

“Dinner later, Smithers, come here and put your feet up for a moment.” 

Smithers frowned, it was unusual for Burns to turn down dinner at its scheduled time, but he acquiesced. “Alright then.”

He crossed the room to the sofa and sat down on the end, putting distance between himself and Burns, he didn’t want to make things awkward for him. He’d had his lapses of judgment before in desperate times and Burns was under an immense amount of pressure at the moment, he’d probably just teased Smithers to get a rise out of him. After all, he’d been the target of Monty’s harmless practical jokes for years, although none so far had been quite so- obscene.

“Change the channel, would you, Waylon?” Burns’ voice startled him out of his thoughts.

“Uh, sure,” he replied. He took the remote from the cushion between them and flipped through the channels, hardly anything worth watching at this time of day. 

He finally settled on the financial report, the bored voice of an economist droned on about the state of the stock market. Smithers moved to set down the remote again but jumped when he realized the spot was now occupied by Burns. He’d failed to notice the man inching closer to him on the sofa as he’d searched through channels. 

Burns reached out and grasped Smithers’ wrist, stilling it before he took the remote from his hand and set it down on the coffee table. Their faces were close together with Burns leaning nearly into Smithers’ lap. The expression on Monty’s face was inscrutable.

“Sir?” Smithers half-whispered, he could feel the blood rising to his cheeks again. 

“Think you’re immune to my wiles, eh, Waylon?” Burns hissed.

Smithers shook his head slowly, trying his hardest not to glance at Monty’s lips or his bare chest, the thin sharp angles of his collarbone. 

“You can be so uptight, why don’t you live a little?” Burns continued on, his free hand skimming Waylon’s bare thigh.

“Sir, you- you can’t really mean?”

“Such a prude, when I was young, men didn’t dance around the subject of sex-“

“Men?” Smithers choked out, stunned by the sudden realization that his years of pining had not been in vain.

Burns rolled his eyes, “Yes, men, Waylon, good god if I didn’t know better I’d say you didn’t know the first thing about me.”

“I didn’t realize,” Smithers finally gathered himself enough to reach a hand out and grasp lightly at the loose shirt that hung off Burns’ body.

“If I had I- I would’ve-“

“Had me in the kitchen?” Burns cackled.

“No!” Waylon lurched forward, a hand on Burns’ shoulder now, “I mean, yes! But before that, I would’ve- a long time ago I would’ve told you.”

Burns looked taken aback but after a second he regained his composure. He laughed quietly. “Damn your modesty, for a moment I thought I’d lost my charm!”

“No, sir, you-“ before Smithers could even finish his reassurance of Burns’ hold over him, Monty had kissed him hard on the mouth. 

Smithers held him tightly but the kiss was over sooner than he would’ve liked, with Burns pulling away to give him a wicked grin. Smithers nearly leaned forward again, chasing the warm taste of tobacco on his mouth, but he was distracted as Burns’ hand hastily moved up his thigh to his revived erection. 

He groaned and bit down on his lip as Burns trailed his fingers over the sensitive head beneath the fabric of his boxers. Before he could even comprehend what was happening Burns had sprawled himself out on the sofa, his head in Smithers’ lap. 

“Why don’t we liven things up a bit in here?” He purred as he pulled down the waistband of Smithers’ shorts and drew out his dick. His hand slid up its length and Waylon moaned, he gripped Burns’ shoulder tightly.

Monty’s breath was humid and warm on the head of his cock, teasing him yet again. Waylon’s hips twitched involuntarily, desperate for any sort of friction.

Luckily Burns granted him mercy, wrapping his fingers firmly around Smithers’ cock and taking him into his mouth.

Waylon held back a choked cry, his hand moving from Burns’ shoulder to tangle his fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head. It was better than any dream or fantasy he’d been able to conjure over the years. 

Burns’ tongue teased him at first, swiping gently at the tip, eliciting short heavy breaths from Waylon who tilted his head back over the top of the couch as Monty worked. His muscles were already tensed and his toes curled, he was trying his damndest not to pull too hard on Monty’s hair but it was becoming increasingly difficult as Burns sucked lazily on the head of his cock and stroked it gently. Smithers was certain he couldn’t last long even under these conditions.

Burns’ fingers slid down to the base of his erection and Smithers gasped as he looked down to see more of his cock disappearing into Burns’ mouth and then into the tightness of his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, his thighs beginning to shake. The nails of his free hand bit into the skin of his palm. 

Burns continued his long unhurried movements, dipping his head down over and over, taking more of the length each time. Smithers fought the urge to buck up into his soft mouth. Burns was watching him with a cruel glint in his eye, it was obvious that he didn’t plan on changing his pace any time soon. 

Waylon let his head fall back again and stroked Monty’s hair, trying to calm his breathing, he had to make this last. But when Burns took him deep into his throat and held him there Smithers felt the hot coil in his gut begin to tighten, he sat up quickly and made a feeble attempt to push Burns away.

“Monty, please, I’ll-“ he rasped and Burns slid off his cock, smirking up at him, Smithers relaxed, although still breathing hard from his near orgasm, and tried to compose himself.

“Not yet, Waylon,” Burns murmured as he sat up. He stood and shucked his own boxers before straddling Smithers on the couch. 

Pressing his face into the crook of Smithers’ neck, Burns nipped at the tender skin there. Waylon put a hand in the small of Monty’s back, sliding it up beneath the loose shirt. Thin delicate fingers wrapped around Smithers’ free hand and guided it between their bodies. It wasn’t hard for Smithers to realize what Burns was asking him to do despite the haziness in his head. 

Smithers pulled Burns closer, taking both of their cocks into his hand and pressing them together. The sensation had an immediate effect on Burns who collapsed against Waylon’s chest, his composure finally falling away as Waylon worked his hand over the sensitive flesh. 

Burns gasped and whined against Smithers’ throat, he couldn’t last long like this, that much was clear. Waylon drank in every sound that he drew from Monty. He dipped his head and pressed his nose against Burns’ exposed shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin mixed with the remnants of his own aftershave there on the collar of the shirt. 

He whispered the things he wished he’d said years ago into the fabric. Suddenly he felt Burns’ hands reach up and take hold of his face, Burns pulled away just slightly and before Smithers even understood what was happening he was being kissed again. Slower this time, he rose up into the kiss and worked his hand faster, he was so close now and it didn’t take long before he came, holding onto Monty for dear life as he did. 

Burns kissed him deeper and ran his fingers over Waylon’s cheeks in a comforting motion as Smithers paused and let go of his now oversensitive dick. He grasped Monty’s erection again and continued to stroke, his hand slick with his own cum. 

Burns wasn’t far behind him and he groaned against his lips, his body tensing as he came into Waylon’s hand. They stayed there for a moment, kissing breathlessly until again Burns slumped forward into Smithers’ arms, resting his head on Waylon’s shoulder. 

“Now wasn’t that exciting?” He whispered with a laugh, Smithers held him tightly. 

“It’s never a dull moment with you,” Smithers replied.

Burns agreed with a self-satisfied hum.

Waylon listened to his soft breathing, he reached up and ran his fingers through Burns’ soft gray hair as he stared at the numbers on the television absent-mindedly, still in awe of his new situation. 

After a few minutes though he shook Burns gently. “Sir? Would you like to get in bed?”

“Hm? I’m not that easily worn out,” Burns hissed obstinately, “just another moment and then you can cook dinner.” 

Smithers shrugged and let Burns rest against his chest again, but the economist on the screen, forgotten in the midst of their activities, had barely started his analysis of another stock before Waylon could hear the soft sound of Burns’ snoring against his shoulder. 

As carefully as he could, he lifted Monty from his lap and adjusted his own boxers before picking Burns up from the sofa and carrying him into the bedroom where he settled him down beneath the covers. He straightened up and watched Burns sleep for a moment. He needed to start dinner but the temptation to curl himself around Monty was simply too great. Dinner could wait and if they woke up too late into the evening they could always order takeout. 

He very carefully crawled into bed and pulled Burns close, Burns stirred just a bit and threw a leg over Smithers’ side before tucking his head beneath Smithers’ chin.

Waylon sighed blissfully as he dozed off with Monty in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written several months ago and i never posted it ; ; hope you enjoyed!


End file.
